


caught in the middle

by pumpkinpaperweight



Series: sge 1920s au [3]
Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: F/F, F/M, implied horavan, implied nicphie, set a year after gmtg, some innuendos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23511397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpaperweight/pseuds/pumpkinpaperweight
Summary: No / I don’t need no help / I can sabotage me by myself / Don’t need no one else / I can sabotage me by myself(all the glory days are gone)--a year after gmtg, tedros is somewhat adrift
Relationships: Agatha/Tedros (The School for Good and Evil)
Series: sge 1920s au [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1085841
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	caught in the middle

**Author's Note:**

> (glossary for any slang you might not understand at the end of the work)

"SWIVEL!" Tedros bellows up at the new dancers on stage, banging his fan on the table. Several people jump, and everyone else stumbles to a confused halt. Tedros growls in irritation and stands, stopping the gramophone with more force than strictly necessary.

“You  _ gotta _ put some effort into those rotational kicks!” he snaps, thumping up the stage steps. “Right now, you all look like cancelled stamps, and it ain’t exactly impressin’ me.”

Valentina sniffs, affronted. 

“We are on the stage in the first place. We cannot be scared of the dancing.”

“Then  _ act  _ like it.” snaps Tedros. She glares at him. Looking around, Tedros can see similar hostile glances, mingling with a couple more apprehensive looks.

“Take twenty.” he says sourly. “Come back ready to do it  _ proper.” _

More scowls as they head off to file offstage.

“It’s funny,” says Aja loudly. “ _ We’ve _ gotta do it proper, but we ain’t ever seen  _ you _ do it.”

Everyone stops talking and turns to stare at him.

Tedros tenses.

“You ain’t been here long enough.” he says stiffly. 

“I’ve been here six months, and I ain’t seen you dance a single step.” sniffs Bastain. 

“I’ve been here longer, and I ain't either.” says Flavia. 

There’s a muttering of assent.

Tedros closes his eyes briefly. This has been an issue for several weeks now. 

When he was first assigned to teach them, in one of Sophie’s stupid schemes to try and get him  _ more involved  _ with the new flappers, they’d just been confused. He wasn’t a dancer, he was a singer. He was popular, but it didn’t change the fact that they’d never once seen him dance. They’d been polite enough about it at first, assuming no one else was available, but as the weeks had worn on, and Tedros had gotten more impatient and snappy with them, they’d started to rally against him. 

Now, Aja had finally said it. 

Tedros grinds his teeth, trying to work out what to tell them. He can’t just say he was shot by a rival of their boss-- most of the new recruits have yet to even  _ see _ Agatha, let alone know 

what Tedros is to her. As far as they’re concerned, Tedros is just some singer. There’s no reason for him to have been shot _.  _

“I--”

“He used to be our best, and now he can’t dance ‘cause he’s got a fucked up leg.”

Tedros turns to see Beatrix striding across the stage towards them.

“That answer your question?” she says brusquely. 

The new flappers exchange glances. It’s clear that wasn’t the answer they were expecting.

“What happened to his--” begins Aja--

“Scram, we want the stage to run through our routine.” interrupts Beatrix, pretending not to hear him.

“But he said--”

“She’s right, get outta here.” repeats Tedros.

They do.

Scowling, Tedros turns away as they clatter down the stairs in a herd, bashing into each other and jostling as they try to get a look at him as they leave. 

“They’re all gonna be gawkin’ at my legs tonight.” says Tedros grimly, as the door slams shut behind them.

Beatrix grimaces.

“Ah. Sorry. Didn’t think of that.”

Tedros shrugs, dropping down to sit on the edge of the stage. 

“Surprised they didn’t know already, to be honest.” he mutters. “Knowin’ what the backstage gossip is like.”

Beatrix shrugs.

“Well, the only people who  _ actually  _ know what happened are the ones in the know with the boss, and none of us are wastin’ time talkin’ to  _ them _ . They’ll probably go and ask around, though, and people know you got shot, so no doubt they’ll find that out soon enough.”

Tedros purses his lips. 

“Right.”

He swings his bad leg vaguely, squinting out at the empty club.

Beatrix sits down next to him. Tedros frowns.

“Ain’t we practicin’?”

Beatrix snorts. 

“As if the Prince of Avalon and his court need to  _ practice _ . Nah, I just figured you wanted them gone for a while.”

“Oh. Thanks.” he pauses, then sighs. “I ought to be nicer to them, really.”

“Tough love?”

“Not really. Just jealousy.”

“Aw.” Beatrix snorts. “You ain’t gotta be  _ jealous  _ of them, Teddy, they’re a bunch of gangly chunks of lead.”

“Maybe, but they’re still  _ dancers.” _

Beatrix sighs. 

“Have you actually  _ tried _ since it happened? Cause it’s been over a year, it might be better--”

“It ain’t better.” says Tedros. “I’ve tried.”

“... what, it hurts?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

It’s partially that, but the main problem is much bigger-- it no longer holds his weight on its own. He can’t do any kind of kick without it buckling beneath him.

He remembers the worst time, directly after the show, a month or so ago. He’d come back to his dressing room jealous and bad-tempered of all the new, fresh-faced dancers currently onstage, and decided he was going to  _ make  _ himself dance again. 

It hadn’t worked, obviously. 

His leg had collapsed underneath him so much that, after the fifth or sixth time he’d gone sprawling onto the floor, he’d just been unable to get back up. His leg had simply refused to take any kind of weight. Whatever he tried-- holding tables, standing on his good leg,  _ anything--  _ the second he’d tried to even it out, he’d be on the floorboards again, bashing his chin or his elbow or landing heavy on his wrist.

After a succession of failed attempts, he’d sat blankly on the floor for a minute, stunned. This couldn’t be happening. This was how it had been straight after he’d been injured-- pretty much unable to walk on his own, constantly in pain--

Someone must have heard him falling over and gone running, because he’d barely had time to process it before Dot was stood over him, bewildered and with her hand halfway to where she kept her gun. Humiliated, he’d just started to explain, when the cheers and the thumping of dancer’s feet in unison had suddenly become audible from outside, clearly increasing in volume as more dancers joined the fray.

Tedros had burst into furious, ashamed tears on his floor, clutching his bad leg and burning with resentment for everything. 

He’d forced Dot to promise not to tell, and she evidently hadn’t, so he couldn’t really blame Sophie for coming up with the idea. He knew she only meant well, but nonetheless it had been with immense reluctance that he’d agreed to teach these kids. 

It’s not making him feel better.

“Let’s go shoppin’.” Beatrix says after a pause, brightening again. “Macy’s! I need some new makeup, and you said you wanted another coat. We can pretend I’m your girlfriend, ain’t no one gonna bat an eye, and--”

“And you want me to pay for you?” anticipates Tedros. 

Beatrix smiles wolfishly.

“You still owe me for those shoes. Besides, you’ve got  _ so much  _ scratch, what with your father’s inheritance, and we all know the boss is buyin’ you all sorts of glad rags--”

“I keep tellin’ her not to!” hisses Tedros. “But she seems to remember every time I complain about anythin’, and the next thing I know, she’s got hold of it, suspiciously fast, I might add--”

“Oh, Teddy, if you think she’s only got influence over coffin varnish, you’re  _ sorely  _ mistaken.” grins Beatrix. “Sure, that’s the illegal bit, but she’s savvy, she’s got a hold over  _ all  _ sorts. Jewels, fashion, music, I think she bought shares in oil--”

“Yes, she’s filthy rich and scary influential and she got the vast majority of it from bein’ a crook, I know.” sighs Tedros.”I actually know stuff about her now, Bea.”

“I forget that.” says Beatrix thoughtfully, sliding off the stage. “I never see you with her anymore, so I tend to think you’re still as ignorant of her as you were a year ago. Suppose she tells you plenty after your little midnight rendezvous, huh--?  _ Ow!” _

She staggers forwards as Tedros boots her in the backside and drops down behind her. “Macy’s, you were sayin’? _ ”  _ he says pointedly. 

Beatrix laughs.

* * *

He knows it’s a distraction, obviously. But he goes along with it anyway, and when they return to Avalon, arms piled high with frivolous nonsense, he has to admit he feels a little better.

At least, until they’re in his dressing room, getting ready for the show.

Beatrix is providing her usual gossip whilst Tedros draws his cupid’s bow on-- both are trying to ignore the excited shrieking and running of the newer performers outside.

“Of course, she told him to fade, he’s seventeen, only a kid--”

“Did he seriously think he had a chance?” scoffs Tedros, carefully avoiding the corners of his mouth and rifling through the messy pile on his vanity, looking for his mascara brush. 

“Apparently. But Nicola clearly wasn’t interested,  _ everyone  _ knows she’s carryin’ a torch for Sophie.”

“Apart from Sophie  _ herself _ .” sighs Tedros, snatching the eyelash curler from Beatrix. “Will you stop stealin’ that?”

“You’re the only one who’s got one!”

“Get a rich girlfriend, then.” says Tedros dismissively. 

“Earlier you said that--” a particularly loud bout of screaming comes from outside and she growls. “Won’t they _can_ _it_?”

“Apparently not.” mutters Tedros. “What routines are they even doin’, this week? What are  _ we  _ doin’?”

Beatrix shrugs.

“Don’t know, Sophie should have been around to tell us by now.”

“Perhaps she’s distracted by Nicola.”

“She’d have to realise Nicola  _ likes  _ her, first.”

“I don’t know, I think she’s realised more than we think--”

More screeches outside. Beatrix sighs. 

“I think they were petitionin’ for a new routine, actually, and Sophie does want to show them off, so maybe she’s just agreed to somethin’ and is havin’ to change the rota.”

“Hope not.”

“Me too, they’re insufferable. Can I borrow your rouge?”

“No, it’s orange tinted.”

“Ugh, you and your tan--”

As if on cue, the door flies open, Sophie bustles through in a whirl of furs.

Tedros glances up and knows immediately from the look in her eye that she’s changed something.

“What do you want?” Beatrix sighs. Sophie frowns.

“You know, the younger kids treat me far better.”

“We can tell, based on the fact you’ve been ignorin’ us recently.” mutters Tedros, blending out his rouge. Sophie catches sight of him and winces.

“Oh-- I’d have come earlier if I’d known, and now you’re already ready--”

“Spit it out!” demands Beatrix. Sophie frowns.

“Well, I made the new performance schedule and tonight-- er, I don’t need you, Teddy.”

Tedros stares at her.

“...what?”

“You’re not on tonight.”

Tedros blinks, confused.

“...Sophie, I’m  _ always  _ on. Every night.”

Sophie purses her lips

“Yes, well, we thought it would be nice if we varied the programme a little, and the new flappers came to me earlier and suggested a couple of dance-only nights, every few weeks! They said it would be higher energy and more exciting, vocalists are only so engaging, and I must say I agree, they have some very good ideas for the--”

“Let me see that.” Tedros snatches the programme from her and squints at it, barely able to believe his ears. But the paper doesn’t lie; he’s only on for nine nights, over the two-week schedule.

“Sophie.” he says. Sophie is still prattling on;

“-- and I thought you’d appreciate some time off to rest your voice, and you can have some time with Aggie--”

Tedros stares at her, incredulous. Agatha isn’t  _ here--  _ she’s been gone for two months, on business in New Orleans, though she’s due back soon-- and even if she  _ was _ , she conducts most of her business whilst everyone else is at the club, given there’s no one to bother her, then.

“And I thought--”

“Sophie.” Tedros hisses. “This is  _ five nights _ where I’m not doing anything. _ ” _

Sophie seems to register his sudden slide out of the club’s way of talking-- he only regains his actual accent when he’s upset-- and looks down at him, bemused. 

“I thought you wouldn’t mind.” she says. “You teach the new kids. I thought you liked them.”

Beatrix makes a vague sort of choking noise.

“Regardless,” Tedros says. “This is my  _ job.” _

Sophie smiles.

“Oh, you’re worried about money? I won’t be paying you any less, and you can always go and sit in the club anyway, people come just to see you--”

“So I’m a prop, now?” snaps Tedros-- then catches sight of movement behind Sophie, and wheels to glare at the flappers peering around the doorway at him. They duck behind the doorway, giggling, and Tedros stares, horrified.

Suddenly, he understands.

This is their form of revenge.

He’s gotten so used to ruling the roost amongst the flappers his age, that he’s forgotten how petty the club can get. Hort blackmailed him for _free_ _drink,_ for god’s sake, and he sold him out to Agatha in return--

Tedros has a sudden, rather vindictive impulse to repeat the process. None of the new flappers know a thing about him and their boss, and he could easily just--

_ This isn’t like last year,  _ he tells himself firmly. _ Revenge plots are not necessary just because you’re jealous of your coworkers. _

He notices Sophie staring at him, and sighs.  _ Of course _ the new recruits have managed to convince her to do this. They’ve spent the past weeks flattering her, and doing everything she tells them, whereas all of the flappers over the age of twenty have spent the last few weeks eating snacks in each other’s dressing rooms and complaining about the new recruits. And Tedros and Beatrix are  _ particularly _ bad for ignoring Sophie.

“Yeah, alright.” he says, resigned. He hands her back the schedule. “I might come down and watch later.”

* * *

He doesn’t.

He helps Beatrix finish getting ready, then sits in his dressing room and stares blankly at his heels--

“Tedros.”

Tedros looks up, surprised, as Hort appears in the doorway.

“Heard you’re not on?” he says.

“You heard right.” says Tedros tiredly. “Guess I’m not gonna be tormentin’ you by climbin’ all over the piano as much anymore.”

“Oh.” Hort frowns. “Guess not.”

Tedros looks up, bewildered.

“Don’t tell me you’re  _ disappointed?” _

Hort shrugs.

“Well, me and you are basically the only fellas around, so I suppose I’ll miss the company.”

“Aja? Bastain?”

“Not the same.” sniffs Hort. “Besides, they don’t like me.”

“I don’t like you.”

“And I don’t like you either, but we get on just swell anyway.” says Hort. “You gonna come and watch?”

Tedros attempts to smile at his expectant face.

“Maybe tomorrow, fella.” 

Hort nods vaguely, rocking on his heels.

“Okay. When are you on again?”

“Wednesday.”

“I’ll see you then.”

He shoots him a final unhappy look before the door shuts with a snap and he’s gone.

* * *

Tedros waits for a while, sitting and staring at his painted face in the mirror, until the sounds of the party become unbearable.

Then he digs a key from his vanity and stalks out of his dressing room.

He takes the back stairs, passing the floors that the spa is on and reaching the top of the building. It’s mercifully silent up here, the party inaudible-- as it should be. No point in a hidden speakeasy if the cops are just gonna walk in and hear it immediately.

He totters along the corridor and takes another, smaller flight of stairs, cursing his stiff leg in heels. He wrestles with the lock on the lone door for a minute before it finally flies open, and he stumbles into Agatha’s dark apartment, bad-tempered and miserable. 

He’s never been able to fathom why this is her main haunt. He’s visited pretty much all of her main properties within the last year, and they’re all far more luxurious than this one,  _ especially _ her Chicago house. He’s still working on convincing her to bring that chaise lounge here.   
While this apartment is spacious and well furnished, it’s right at the top of the building, above the spa  _ and  _ the club. Not exactly private or secluded, though it is the entire top floor. It lacks indulgences, apart from books. Still, it’s a far sight preferable to his father’s house (creepy, bad memories, where his mother and stepfather are) or his dressing room (tiny, everyone is too loud).

Sighing, he unbuckles his shoes and kicks them off at random, not caring where they land, and throws his shawl and gloves in the vague direction of Agatha’s desk, followed by his headdress-- one of his old, three-band rhinestone ones. He wouldn’t throw anything Agatha had bought him.

Feeling rather lonely, he shuffles across the polished wood floor in his stockings. He has a vague idea of going to wash his makeup off, or to restore his hair to its natural state, but instead, he finds himself standing in Agatha’s bedroom, staring at himself in the mirror.

He has to admit, they’ve pulled a good move on him. But it’s also  _ cruel.  _ He’s the only one of all the performers who isn’t a dancer-- or isn’t a dancer  _ anymore-- _ so it was definitely targeted. 

Sophie doesn’t seem to have remembered this.

She  _ also  _ seems to have forgotten that Tedros is far and away her most popular performer. Maybe it’s vanity to say it himself, but it’s  _ true.  _ Every club in every city across America has dancers. Only  _ one _ club has the Prince of Avalon. Putting him on only nine nights out of fourteen when he used to do all of them is just idiotic. 

Not that he  _ looks _ like the Prince of Avalon, now. He just looks tired, and half-constructed without his headdress or shoes or gloves. He’s forgotten to put eyeliner on, he realises, and he never even picked up his pearls in the first place-- both are downstairs.

Crestfallen, he slumps onto the bed face-first, and ignores his leg when it twinges.

* * *

The door’s unlocked.

Only Tedros would be so careless.

Sighing, Agatha yanks it open.

Shoes in random corners, his headdress is winking at her from under her desk, and his gloves and shawl are in a forlorn heap on the floor. As predicted.

Frowning, she stoops to pick them up and fold them. He’s careless in a lot of ways, but he’s usually very prideful when it comes to his stage clothes, and doesn’t like to mishandle them. 

But more unusual still, is the fact that he’s not supposed to be here at  _ all _ . It’s only halfway through the show. He should be downstairs, singing something vaguely inappropriate and kissing newsies.

Agatha, shedding her shoes and coat, decides there’s only a few reasonings. One, he’s sick, and he came here to sulk and use her bathroom to throw up in, given it’s far nicer than the basin in his dressing room. Two, he’s already finished his set, which is very unlikely, because he usually goes last. Three, he got in a fight with someone and refused to perform. 

None of them seem very likely.

Confused, she edges her bedroom door open with her foot, and immediately spots him-- sprawled out face-down on her bed, on his usual side, leg hanging off the edge.

Agatha checks he’s not still wearing pearls (because he  _ has  _ been known to nearly throttle himself with them before) but he’s not. He’s also not wearing earrings. 

Agatha squints at him, confused. Tedros  _ always  _ puts everything on in a specific order, and he  _ always  _ checks he’s got it all before he goes onstage. 

So… he hasn’t been onstage.

She feels bad waking him up, but she’s intensely curious and also rather worried. She’d think he was drunk, but he doesn’t drink and she can’t smell alcohol on him, only that sharp perfume.

She slips an arm over his back and leans over him, squeezing his side gently.

“Gettin’ your facepaint all over my sheets, Meredith?”

Tedros makes the muffled little irritated sound he always makes when she wakes him up.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in New Orleans?” he mutters.

“Why, you want me gone?” asks Agatha. She notices he’s slid back into his  _ rich man’s son _ dialect.

“No-o--” he manages to snag her tie without looking, which is rather impressive. “Just saying.”

“Didn’t anyone tell you I was due back? I told Sophie.”

A sullen look comes over his face, and he looks up at her. He has black mascara lines on his cheeks. 

_ He's been crying--? _

“No one told me anything."

Interesting. Very unlike Sophie, not to come and rib him about it.

“Ah. Well, I’m back.”

Agatha detaches his hand from her tie and clambers over him to sit beside him. He doesn’t say anything.

She sighs, takes her hat off and puts it on his head, really just to get his attention. Tedros frowns and throws it back at her (he misses) finally turning over onto his back.

“Yeah, I missed you too, thanks for sayin’ it.” sighs Agatha. Tedros looks a little guilty, which is, again, interesting. Normally he just laughs at her when she ribs him. 

“Sorry. I missed you, I did.”

Agatha smiles vaguely and accepts his kiss before flopping back, eyeing him suspiciously.

Tedros fidgets.

“What?” 

“Will you tell me what you’re doin’, sulkin’ up here, half-dressed?”

Tedros pulls his skirt back down around his knees, embarrassed. 

“It ain’t important.”

He’s reclaimed the slang. Whatever this is, it’s not good. If he’s putting up barriers--

“Seems to be important to you.” says Agatha. “Because I ain’t ever known you to miss a show.”

Tedros squints at the ceiling.

“It’s nothin’.”

“I thought we were tellin’ each other things, these days?”

Tedros hesitates. Agatha waits patiently, eyeing the makeup stain he’s left on the sheets--

“You know the new flappers?” Tedros bursts out suddenly. Agatha frowns.

“Not personally, but I know they exist. You got beef with one of them?”

“Try  _ all  _ of them.” Tedros rolls over to face her, looking suddenly miserable. “Sophie forced me to teach them to dance, because she thought it would make me feel better, except I was horrible to them because they’re annoying and I was jealous. And now they all hate me and to get back at me, they charmed Sophie and got her to assign five nights every two weeks where it’s dancers  _ only,  _ no singing, which means I’m the only person who can't perform because of my leg, and--”

He bursts into tears.

Agatha pulls him to her immediately, but she's startled, and her mind is slow to catch up as a result, trying to work through everything he’s just blurted out. 

“I didn’t even know she was doing that until I was nearly ready, she just came bursting in to tell me, and I could see them waiting in the corridor to see my reaction, I could hear them laughing--” Tedros stops to catch his breath, and Agatha jumps in to try and get an understanding of this, scratching her nails lightly into his back.

“You’re tellin’ me these little bastards have convinced Sophie to exclude you for five nights out of the fourteen?”

“Cause I was mean to them at dance practice, yeah." Mumbles Tedros.

“Why would Sophie let them meddle? She don’t like people changing her shit.”

“They flattered her. She likes them better because they’re not rude to her like the older flappers are.”

Agatha snorts.

“ _ I’m  _ rude to her and she likes me.”

“You’re rude to everyone.”

“I object. I’m bein’  _ ever _ so nice to you, sweet thing.”

“It fluctuates.” says Tedros, but Agatha can feel his grin against her collarbone. Agatha snorts. He’s always liked pet names.

“These kids… are they the ones who lurk outside the spa and think they’re hotshots ‘cause they wear cloche hats and smoke?”

“Yeah.”

“They deserve a little bullyin’, I think.”

“I wasn’t wanting a moral judgement from Lady A, to be honest.”

“Probably a good idea.” says Agatha, running her hands through his waved hair to ruin it, like she likes to. “God, I’m gone for just over a month and suddenly Sophie is losin’ us money by not puttin’ on our Prince?”

Tedros pinches her, even though they both know that’s not her main concern. Agatha laughs and shoves his hand away, but she’s thinking fast. He was like this-- easily upset and testy about his leg-- a year ago, but she’s been under the impression he’s become much more thick-skinned over the last few months, which means--

“Has somethin’ else happened?” she asks.

“No.” says Tedros, far too quickly. “I just feel--”

He stops. Agatha frowns. 

“What?”

“Like I’m… adrift. I’m not properly with the flappers, because I can’t dance, and I’m not properly with you, because I’m a flapper. Kind of caught in the middle”

“...ain’t that useful?”

“I don’t know. It feels odd.”

Agatha sighs. She knows what he means, but it’s not as if he’s going to want to abandon the stage anytime soon, and she wouldn’t want him to. It’s what he originally came here for, after all. 

“But I guess… I can’t do anything about it. But it’s worse because I can’t dance _anymore_ , I used to be able to. I’ve been… excluded, I suppose. And now-- and now I’ve tried and _know_ I can’t dance, it feels so final, because--”

He cuts himself off, but it’s too late.

Agatha groans.

“There is a somethin’ else, then. You tried to dance.” 

Silence.

“Let me guess, your leg went out and you hurt yourself.”

More silence.

“When was this?”

“...while ago.”

Agatha sighs and tries to pry his head off her chest.

“ _ Tedros,  _ you can’t keep doing this.”

Tedros clings obstinately to her, clearly embarrassed.

“This is why I didn’t tell you.” he mutters. “I knew you’d be annoyed.”

Agatha sighs. 

“I ain’t annoyed. Don’t think I didn’t try all sorts on my hip. But I couldn’t run properly for  _ years,  _ Tedros, of course you can’t dance.”

“But I  _ want  _ to.”

“I know you do. Unfortunately, it ain’t safe, and it ain’t possible.”

“I know.”

Agatha bites her lip, thinking.

“I’ll go and fight with Sophie. It’s my club, she can’t refuse me.”

“We can’t get rid of all of the dance nights just because I threw a fit.” mutters Tedros. “See how the audience take it tonight, and go from there.”

“Yes we can--”

“ _ Agatha.” _

“Alright, whatever you say. Also, these kids--”

“If you’re about to suggest I try and intimidate them by telling them I’m your moll,  _ no.” _

“They’ll find out eventually.”

"I  _ was _ a real cow to them, to be fair. I should make it up to them."

"Ain't teachin' them to dance enough?"

"I don't think so. I'll think of something. I'll start with being nicer." 

"Huh." Agatha frowns. She supposes he thinks it's fair, but she doesn't think being a mean-spirited teacher equates to engineering the performances to exploit said teacher's weakness. "By the way, who orchestrated that?"

"Don't know." Tedros says vaguely, pulling back to wipe his face, and smearing rouge across his jaw. "Aja? Valentina? Couldn't tell you."

"... alright."

Agatha will find out herself, then.

She looks over at him, fidgeting with her cufflinks, slowly taking them out.

"I got you a present, but maybe you're not in the mood."

"Maybe later." Tedros mumbles.

"Well then, how about this; I got an invitation. One of my suppliers has just gotten married and he's invited all his…  _ industry professionals  _ to a celebratory party."

God, he must be upset, because he doesn't even look excited.

"Why'd he bother? Lady A doesn't like parties."

"True." Agrees Agatha. "She usually sends her sister in her stead.  _ However _ , she may be convinced to make an appearance, if the Prince of Avalon wants to go with her."

Tedros purses his lips.

"I can't dance."

"You don't have to. You just have to walk around and look hot and powerful. Consider it your…" she considers how to word it so he'll understand. "... _ society debut." _

Tedros spurts out a laugh. 

" _ Society debut _ ?"

"Somethin' like that."

It's true, she doesn't have much love for parties. But she knows Tedros does, and she thinks it might be a good reminder of his… acquired status.

She finds it fascinating that the Tedros, who’s so particular about his stage outfits and who frets about not being able to dance, is the same Tedros who shut down Foxwood last year, but they are very much the same entity. She's seen very few flashes of the latter since. But  _ few _ doesn't mean  _ none _ . He's become somewhat infamous within their circles, but people are bewildered as to how-- most people who have met him have just found him affable and flirtatious, if a little impulsive. They're not wrong, but Agatha knows how dangerous it can be if he's not taken seriously. 

She's not getting a response, though, so she tries a different angle.

"You can wear your best shoes." Agatha wheedles.

"...I'll think about it." says Tedros, which means he's caved.

Agatha laughs.

"You're so vain." 

Tedros doesn't even bother to deny it.

"I'm gonna wash my makeup off." He declares.

"Don't you wanna see what I got you?" Asks Agatha, stripping off her suit jacket and dumping her cufflinks on the side table. Tedros isn’t listening, sliding into the bathroom in his stockings and examining his ruined face in her mirror. Agatha sighs. Spoiled rotten.

Well, perhaps it would do to wait a bit longer, anyway. 

* * *

"Tonight is one of your dance nights." Tedros tells the younger flappers tersely, at the next week's dance session. "We're goin' to a party."

"Who's  _ we _ ?" demands Aja. Tedros frowns.

"Me and the boss. Some others."

A dozen wary gazes swing to where Agatha is sitting reading the paper next to Tedros. Agatha covers her smirk behind it. This is the first time most of them have ever seen her; she sauntered in, right in the middle of the dance, put her feet on the table, opened the paper and stoutly ignored them. Hester and Anadil are lurking nearby, to project the proper image of Agatha being highly influential and highly important. Tedros might have forbidden her from directly bullying them, but it doesn’t mean she can’t do it  _ indirectly _ . 

“ _ Whose  _ party?” demands Aja. Tedros frowns.

“Some rich fella. What’s it to you? You’re not comin’. Fix your posture.”

As they reluctantly go back to practicing steps, Tedros looks down at Agatha.

“Who’s party  _ is  _ it?”

“Ravan Russ’s.”

Tedros balks.

“ _ Hort’s friend?  _ One of  _ Hort’s  _ friends is a supplier of yours? _ ” _

It hasn’t occurred to Agatha until now that Tedros doesn’t have her encyclopedic knowledge of the criminal going-ons in New York. He spends so much time trying to distract her by taking her papers that she’s always assumed he’s picked most things up. 

“Ah. That’s how you know him, I suppose, yeah.”

“And he’s just got married to a  _ woman?” _

“He’s only marryin’ Mona because they both wanna advance their influence and fortune, Meredith. It was a business venture.”

“Oh.” Tedros pulls a face. “I wouldn’t marry for money.”

“Noted.”

“Shut up--” Agatha winces as Tedros’s voice suddenly rises to a shout. “ARE YOU DANCIN’ OR ARE YOU EAVESDROPPIN’? MIND YOUR APPLES!”

Several flappers who had stopped to stare at them hastily go back to their foot positionings.

“Thought you were bein’ nicer.” says Agatha mildly.

“I am. I’ve only shouted twice in the last hour, and I gave some praise.”

“Outstandin’.” mutters Agatha. 

“I try. Where’s this party at, his house?”

“Yeah, he’s got a real swanky manor out in Long Island, on the north side.”

“Huh.” Tedros considers this. “Real new money, then.”

“Of course, it’s all money from bootleggin’. But everyone who’s anyone will be there. Even the people who ain’t supposed to be.”

They’re both familiar with the hypocrisy of police and politicians when it comes to prohibition. Tedros frowns, though.

“Won’t they try and snitch on you?”

“Well, if they did, they’d have to admit they were at a party with me in the first place, and that  _ never  _ looks good, does it? Fraternisation and all. Second, pretty much everyone in the local forces are patrons of my clubs, given they don’t have much choice anymore.”

Tedros smirks a little.

“Third, they’re all either under my thumb or  _ yours,  _ baby. Ain’t no way they’ll be snitchin’ on us.”

“True.” Tedros murmurs. He gets up to put a song on. “Another run through, if you please!”

Agatha watches him for a little while. It’s easy to tell that even with his leg, he’s still a dancer-- there’s a sharp, critical gleam in his eye, and it’s obvious he knows what he’s looking for. She has to admit, she knows why Sophie put him up to this; even if Tedros’s own jealousy is getting in the way, he has all the makings of a perfectly good teacher. She doesn’t think it’s fair to expect him to get over his resentment yet, but in time, he might get better. 

The trouble is, neither he nor the new dancers really want to give the other a chance.

* * *

“I don’t understand why  _ you  _ have to come.” mutters Hort as they pile out of the car. “Ravan’s  _ my  _ friend.”

“I come with the territory.” says Tedros, accepting Agatha’s hand down. “You invite Agatha, you have to assume I’ll come, too. Anyway, I was here before you.”

“Should I remind you that I was  _ forced  _ to work at Avalon?” grumbles Hort.

“And yet you’re still here, despite being given the option to leave.” says Tedros sweetly, checking his face in the wing mirror.

Hort sighs.

“Fine, whatever. But I  _ do  _ object to the fact that I have to drive you about.”

“I’m wearing heels and have a bad leg, get over it--” Tedros stops abruptly, staring at the car that had just pulled up beside them. Nicola, Sophie, and--

“ _Valentina and Aja_ _are coming?”_ splutters Tedros. Hort follows his gaze.

“Oh, I thought you knew. Yeah, just those two, they apparently know Ravan’s wife or something.”

“But those two are the ones that hate me!” hisses Tedros, turning away quickly as they start to exit the car.

“Well, you can just avoid them or something.” says Hort impatiently. “I don’t know. Besides, look how many people there are here, it’s gonna be real easy to lose them. Oh, Vex--”

He goes running off, and Tedros turns his attention to the house. Hort’s right-- it’s already incredibly busy, the gardens and stairs filled with people making their way up to the party itself, from where Tedros can hear the blare of music and cheering.

He turns to Agatha and tries to appear unbothered. The only two types of party he’s ever really experienced are stuffy dinner parties or the raging, cramped interiors of speakeasies. This is more akin to his father’s old parties, which he’d tended to try and avoid at all costs. 

“You know, I’m taller than you in these heels.” he says brightly. Agatha snorts.

“Only just. You should get a few extra inches put in them if you wanna look  _ much  _ taller.”

Tedros frowns, unimpressed. Agatha raises her eyebrows at him and offers her arm.

“There’s no protocol for this party, if you’re wondering. You just turn up, party, and go home. I’m gonna go and find Ravan, though, if you wanna come.”

Tedros shrugs and accepts her arm.

“I’ve nothing better to do.”

He recognises her ploy, though-- they both know that if they arrive together, people will make the connection between them. And a connection to Lady A is probably a good idea at a party like this, given the type of people populating it. There’s a reason he’s started to conceal small knives in his garters when he’s ever in any kind of threatening situation. 

But even though not everyone (or anyone) has seen them before, it’s not hard to identify them-- Agatha is grim and silent and has only flashes of wealth, in her ruby tie pin and heavy rings and expensive suit, and Tedros is flirtatious and charming and extremely hard to miss, given he’s blonde and wears lots of expensive things and struts everywhere. Put them together and it’s easy to make the connection. 

And people  _ do  _ recognise them. Heads turn and eyes widen and Tedros can’t help but feel a little bit smug as people move out of their way to let them pass. Perhaps he should go out with Agatha more often--

Then he catches sight of the dancefloor and who’s already on it, and his mood sours.

“Damn show-offs.” he mutters, eyeing his fellow flappers already gone to dance. Agatha squeezes his arm. 

“Jealousy ain’t no fun at parties, Meredith. It ain’t attractive.” 

It’s said playfully enough, so Tedros knows it’s not a rebuke, but she does have a point. He ignores it, though.

“Everythin’ about me is attractive, boss.”

“Shut up, Meredith.”

“Make me.”

“Maybe later, yeah?”

Tedros laughs, but now they’re approaching who he thinks is Ravan-- tall and brown-skinned, with dreadlocks and a  _ I will quite happily shoot your head off  _ expression he’s well acquainted with from Hester. He thinks he remembers seeing him with Hort at Avalon a few times. He’d never known he was one of Agatha’s suppliers-- clearly, Hort had never told him he was getting free drinks, else their relationship would have soured extremely quickly.

“I don’t suppose I should say congratulations.” says Agatha dryly, accepting a drink from a rather frightened-looking waiter without even looking. Ravan snorts.

“Probably not, no.” 

The waiter looks expectantly at Tedros, who smiles.

“No thanks, doll.”

She looks surprised-- rejecting a drink at a bootlegger’s party, whilst on _Lady A’s_ _arm_ , practically unheard of-- but backs off, relieved. 

“Nah, don’t bother.” smirks Mona, a tall, dark haired woman with an odd greenish tint to her skin, stood just as far away from Ravan as she can get without it looking suspicious. “Unless you’re congratulating us on our suddenly acquired wealth and influence.”

“Congratulations on your suddenly acquired wealth and influence.” says Agatha. “Does this mean I have more links to more clubs, now?”

“You ain’t takin’ any of my clubs, thank you.” sniffs Mona. 

“I said  _ links,  _ bearcat. I’ve got all the clubs I need.”

“In that case, I suppose somethin’ could be…  _ arranged.” _

Agatha looks expectantly at Ravan, who shrugs lazily. 

“I’m already lookin’ into splittin’ somethin’ between you both.”

“Don’t forget where your original loyalty lies.” warns Agatha. Ravan sneers, but it’s in good humour.

“What are you gonna do if I do, send your Coven to shut down Mona’s clubs like you did Rhian?”

Tedros frowns. 

“The Coven didn’t shut down Rhian.” says Agatha pleasantly. “And you know that, bastard.”

Ravan and Mona’s eyes both swing to Tedros. Tedros looks at Agatha for direction, but doesn’t get any.

“Maybe I do know that.” says Ravan. “I didn’t believe it, though. How did a single flapper boy with a recently shot-through leg manage that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” says Tedros coolly. Ravan raises his eyebrows.

“I’m sure I can get the story out of Hort.”

“You didn’t bother to do it before, though.”

“We were expectin’ you to be... somethin’ different.” says Mona. 

“Sorry to disappoint.” says Tedros, straightening his pearls. He can see Ravan looking incredulously at Agatha, as if disapproving of her choice of gun moll. Agatha takes a swig of her drink and ignores him. 

“The twins were disappointed in me, too.” continues Tedros. “Course, they probably still are, but I wouldn’t know, seein’ as they’re in the big house.”

“How long’s their sentence?” asks Mona, curious despite herself.

“It was gonna be fifteen until I went to give evidence.” says Tedros mildly. 

“... and now?”

“Life, doll.”

Ravan narrows his eyes.

“I was at that trial. You weren’t the one--”

“Who collapsed on the stand,  _ overcome _ by the emotional distress of having to recount what his reprehensible brothers had done to him? Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

“... think you’d do well on the stage.”

“I prefer less high-brow performances, fella.” 

“Clearly.” 

“This is ever so interestin’, but I think we’ll leave you to marital bliss now.” interrupts Agatha, not concealing a smirk very well. “Come on, Meredith.”

She shoots Ravan what Tedros thinks is an  _ I told you so  _ look and turns to lead Tedros away.

* * *

It continues pretty much in the same vein for several hours-- that is, until Beatrix has exhausted her gossip and gone to dance, Agatha has left him to talk to some distinctly disreputable looking figures who are clearly deferring to her, and Sophie and Nicola have gone to “discuss something” (Tedros prays this is "make out where Hort won’t see" because that means he wins the club betting pool. Not that either are with Hort, but Nicola would probably try to spare him the emotional distress. Though they’d be wasting their time, because  _ he’s  _ noticed the looks Ravan and Hort have been shooting each other for the past two hours,  _ and  _ how Mona doesn’t appear to care in the slightest.)

So, he’s stood on his own, trying to look aloof and unattainable, but really just bad-temperedly critiquing all the dancing going on in the centre of the room. He lost sight of Valentina and Aja a long time ago, which he thought would do wonders for his mood, but didn’t, somehow. 

However, it definitely makes it worse when they reappear.

“Tedros, Tedros--”

“What?” Tedros demands bad-temperedly as they come scrabbling up to him, wide-eyed and clearly extremely drunk. “Ain’t you got anyone else to bother--”

Aja cuts in, babbling desperately.

“We accidentally told that fella the location of Avalon he told us he was from the club and we believed him until he asked us what the name of the spa was, we told him then saw him write it down and we’d already mentioned a password--”

Tedros bolts up. 

“You did  _ what? _

Aja points desperately to a ginger young man weaving through the crowd, clutching a scrap of paper.

“Get him, get him, get Lady A to shoot him--”

“ _ You saps!”  _ Tedros snarls, grabbing Aja by the lapel. _ “Can’t you ever do anythin’- _ -” he cuts himself off with some difficulty and drops Aja. 

The two stare up at him, horrified--

“Get the boss.” snarls Tedros, and turns on his heel, striding across the ballroom.

He spots him almost instantly.

The boy holding the note stares hard at him for a minute, eyes narrowed. 

_ Who’s he working for?  _ Tedros supposes it could be pretty much anyone-- this party is huge and loud and uncontrollable, pretty much anyone could sneak in. 

Tedros grits his teeth, and immediately makes through the crowd towards him, giving him no time to deliberate--

But giving just enough for the boy to wave mockingly and plunge into the fray on the dance floor.

Tedros swears under his breath, watching him catch a partner and descend into the whirl of limbs that the current Charleston is producing. He  _ must _ recognise him-- and must know that he’s no longer able to dance. 

_ Bastard.  _ Below the belt.

He looks around furiously, but no one who can help him is in view, and the boy is already halfway across the floor, swapping partners furiously as he makes his way towards the doors. But watching him, Tedros can tell-- he doesn’t know the dance well enough. He’s holding both of his partner’s hands, not one shoulder, he’s not maintaining much space, and if he carries on like this, he’ll get dumped for being a heeler. Plus, he can’t manipulate the steps to his advantage, to move faster across the floor, like a better dancer could…

Like  _ Tedros  _ could.

He sees a flash of the note again, sticking out of his left pocket. At the same time, a wave of that same white, burning anger, the same fury he’d felt at Foxwood, spikes. He thinks he can outmanoeuvre him like this, does he? With such a low blow?

Tedros was the best dancer for miles, once. He can be that again.

Fuck Japeth and what he’d done to him.

He’ll dance himself to death if need be.

Tedros hurls himself into the fray.

* * *

It’s a miracle that no one he dances with registers the grimace he’s almost immediately wearing, but they’re all probably too drunk to bother looking at his face. He’s leading, so that means he needs to dread steps three and four--

_ 1, 2, 3-- _

Tedros sucks in a breath as he puts his weight onto his left leg, pulling some girl he’s dancing with towards the boy, who appears to be arguing with his partner. Good, it can buy him some time. 

Bad leg tense, he puts his right foot in front of his left--  _ 5,6- _ \- and tries to plan his path across the dancefloor.  _ 7,8 _ \-- he goes back to standing, and sighs in relief as he shifts his weight to his right leg again--

And then they’re switching partners, and he’s flung into the arms of a very drunk boy, who looks delighted to have suddenly had a very handsome flapper handed to him.

“ _ Watch it!”  _ Tedros snarls as an overenthusiastic kick narrowly misses his bad leg. The boy barely hears him, and Tedros swaps their positions with far too much venom, dancing probably too hard for his leg. _ 5, 6, 7, 8 _ where’s he gone? There’s the paper, he’s over there,  _ kick,  _ god, no one on this floor can dance,  _ swap,  _ rotational kick, god, his  _ leg--  _ don’t think about it, don’t think about it,  _ why is this man dancing a Foxtrot-- _

But Tedros is gaining on him, and the boy is starting to look worried. He’s right in the centre of the fray, and the girl he’s dancing with is not looking prepared to let go of him any time soon. Tedros whirls his current partner towards them. 

“You’re a real floorflusher.” says his partner admiringly, but undeniably slurred. “You a dancer at one of those clubs?”

“Somethin’ like that.” says Tedros, and drops him to dart across to another girl, teeth clenched. His leg is truly protesting now, stabbing with pain every time he moves. It’ll only be a matter of time until it truly gives up on him.

The boy is staring at him, now, taken aback. Tedros shoots him a grim smile and advances further, and his target turns frantically to try and get out of the fray, but his partner clings furiously to him. 

He's so close, now. If he can get someone to lead him and he can have his back to this boy, he can put an arm out--

Someone else catches him and pulls him towards the very centre of the throng, and Tedros hisses in triumph,  _ 3,4, _ go back, spin, grab him,  _ grab him-- _

He snags the paper on his third try and yanks it out of his pocket. 

Furious, the boy rips away from his partner and grabs Tedros by the pearls. Tedros spits out a curse and aims a hit at him, but the boy is dragging them right to the edge of the ballroom, where it protrudes onto the veranda. Tedros, swearing loudly at him, spins one of his rings around and clouts him around the face, where the jewel breaks skin and sends blood trickling down his face. The boy snarls and turns them again, so Tedros is pinned against the very top of the stairs, trying to snatch the note off him. Tedros shoves it in his glove and goes in for another hit, but the boy grabs his wrists and--

His eyes shift downwards, and his face clears.

Tedros realises what he's going to do slightly too late. 

Stairs. 

Stairs can look like an accident--

He aims a vicious kick at Tedros's bad leg, and it hits directly on one of the old bullet wounds. Tedros shouts in pain, and it buckles underneath him. He hits the marble hard and slides down the first few steps, gasping and mostly seeing white. He manages to scrape to his knees, all his weight on his good one--

The boy comes to stand over him. No one around them is paying attention, too drunk and too busy dancing. Tedros shoots a panicked glance down the steep, hard marble steps.

"You really thought you could catch me, on  _ that _ ?" He laughs. "Though you did better than I expected, I gotta admit. But I'm not here to chat."

"You're not working for the cops." Tedros hisses desperately, hands scrabbling at his good leg, and fingers snagging his garter. "Who're you working for?"

The boy plants his foot on his shoulder

"The Master sends his regards to Lady A. He thought raiding her most famous club might be a good warning, but I suppose bumpin' off her gun moll would achieve pretty much the same thing. Surprised it hasn't happened yet, truth be told, with that leg."

"Wanna match?" Says Tedros.

The boy stares.

"Wha--"

Tedros snatches his blade from his garter and drives it as hard as he can into the ankle of the foot that's on his shoulder.

The boy screams in fury and pain, and kicks him across the face, knocking him sideways across the steps. Spitting blood, Tedros tenses, waiting for another hit--

And instead hears the distinctive sound of a punch.

He looks up to see the boy hit so hard that his head glances off the pillar next to him, and he crumples in a heap on the floor.

"The hell did you do to him?" Demands Hester, shaking out her knuckles and peering at the knife in his ankle. "Where'd you get that?"

"Keeps them in his garters, don't he?" Agatha is behind him, trying to pull him up to a sitting position. Tedros finds himself babbling;

"He's got the location of Avalon, one of the new flappers got blotto and snitched, I had to get it off him but he was a bastard and went onto the dancefloor so I followed him--"

"I know, Meredith, I know." Says Agatha. "They came to tell me, absolutely beside themselves, by which time it looks like you'd already caught him. You got that paper?"

Tedros shakily digs in his glove and produces it, letting her prop him up against the banister. Agatha casts a cursory glance over it and snorts.

"Password's a month outta date. Damn useless performers. Still…"

She produces a lighter and sets fire to each corner of it, then drops it on the steps and waits for it to burn.

"Didn't break your nose, did he?" She asks. Tedros stares incredulously at her, not understanding how she can be so calm. 

"Mostly hit my cheek. Look, he was workin' for that Rafal, he said he was tryin' to get back at you--"

"He's late, you and I raided one of his clubs almost a year ago." Says Agatha, apparently having decided his face wasn't badly damaged. "What'd he do to your leg?"

"Kicked me in one of the bullet scars--" Tedros snarls as Agatha touches one of them. "Don't do that!"

"Sorry. Can you stand?"

"Course I can't stand, I danced for five minutes then got kicked!"

"Touché. Sit here for a minute, then, I'll get someone to bring the car around." She looks down and frowns. "What happened to your hand? There's blood all over your gloves."

So there was.

Tedros stares unhappily at his hand. He feels rather detached, presumably from exertion. 

"Aw, man. These are my best, that'll never come out--" 

He looks up to find Agatha and Hester staring at him. He blinks.

"Bloodstains ain't ever comin' out of this fabric."

"Tedros, is it  _ your _ blood?" Asks Agatha.

"No." Frowns Tedros, touching his bad leg absently. "It's his. I turned my ring around and slapped him so it cut him.

His leg hurts badly.  _ Really _ badly.

He thinks Hester is laughing, but Agatha isn't. 

"You're very pale." She says, reaching out to touch his face.

"Yeah, I think--"

* * *

Tedros wakes up on the grass outside the mansion. He can still hear the party in the distance.

Hester is talking; 

"--He's way more lucid than last time, an' less badly hurt, it's obviously just exertion and a couple injuries. He'll be fine, don't kill this kid--" 

"I'm sorely tempted."

"Can't believe I'm the voice of reason, but he could be useful, don't. Besides, I think Meredith has done a pretty good job of damagin' him. Foot  _ and  _ face. Plus, I punched him." 

Ravan, stood by them, notices that Tedros’s eyes are open. He raises his eyebrows at him.

“Not bad, Pendragon. Not bad.”

“Don’t call me that.” mutters Tedros, sitting up with some difficulty. Ravan shrugs.

“Meredith, then. Don’t want a connection with your father?”

“Don’t want a connection between the Prince of Avalon and Tedros Pendragon, actually.” Nearby, Anadil and Dot are dragging the boy, hands bound with Hester’s tie, towards their car where Nicola waits, whilst Sophie shouts at Valentina and Aja. Agatha is sat by his side in the grass, sleeves rolled up and jacket slung over her shoulder, watching it play out with some amusement. 

“How can you find this funny?” demands Tedros, allowing her to prop him up against her side. “They nearly sold us out.”

“But they didn’t. And even if they had, none of us would have been there and Rafal would have regretted it,  _ wouldn’t  _ he?”

Tedros catches the implication.

“What, do I need to develop a track record of shutting down clubs or something?” Tedros rubs his bruised cheek where he’d been kicked. “Can it wait?”

“Sure it can.” Agatha stands and tips her hat to Ravan as he retreats back to the party. “Thanks for your hospitality. We’ve drunk a lot, all the flappers have had their dance, and Meredith caught one of Rafal’s lackeys. Come on, Meredith--”

“I don’t think I can walk.” mutters Tedros as she hauls him to his feet and he immediately goes back over.

Agatha groans.

“Do I have to carry you?”

Tedros looks doubtfully up at her.

“You can carry me?”

* * *

She can. Clearly the few extra inches she has on him make it easier.

“ _ Ow,  _ ain’t this supposed to be romantic--? Ow,  _ Agatha _ !” Tedros scowls as he’s dumped unceremoniously in the passenger seat of the car. “What am I, a parcel?”

“A parcel would complain less.” Agatha climbs into the driver’s seat. Tedros eyes her warily. There’s a reason she usually has a driver, and it’s not because she’s rich. Technically, Agatha  _ can  _ drive, but she drives like a gangster, which she is, and her hip doesn’t improve matters. Tedros tends to briefly regain belief in God when he’s in a car she’s driving. 

“Please go easy on the accelerator. I already nearly died once today.”

“You got kicked in the head and the knee. It was pretty hard, I grant you, but you were never in danger of dying.”

“I’m in danger of upchucking in your very expensive Rolls Royce if you  _ swerve  _ like you always do, though.”

“I’ll bear it in mind.” snorts Agatha, pulling out of the drive. 

Tedros is silent for a minute, working over everything that’s happened in the past few days.

“Agatha?”

“I’m drivin’  _ fine.” _

“I wasn’t even gonna say anythin’ about your drivin’!”

“Oh. What, then?”

“I don’t think bein’ somewhere in-between the flappers and your inner circle is such a bad thing after all.”

“No?”

“No. It really bothered me at first, but now… I think it’s got some advantages to it. I like bein’ both. And doin’ both. And knowin’ everythin’ about both sides. Ravan and Mona didn’t expect me to be like I was. And that boy wasn’t expectin’ me to stab him in the foot, or to go into the dance. No one expects anything of a flapper.”

“You  _ shouldn’t _ have gone into the dance.” points out Agatha. 

“I know.” says Tedros regretfully. “But the point is, maybe I can manage being slightly adrift after all. I can provide you with the gossip from the flappers and get information about high society from my mother, right?”

“Right.” says Agatha.

Tedros can see her smiling out of the corner of his eye.

“If it’s any consolation,” she says, “Valentina and Aja saw you dance.”

“...they did?”

“They looked like they’d been smacked,” she grins. “Clearly, if you  _ really  _ want to, you can still do it.”

“I fainted after it, and now I can’t walk.”

“The price of art, Meredith.”

She pauses.

"I never showed you your present."

Tedros perks up.

“Can you show me when we get back?”

“I can show you now.” says Agatha.

Tedros stares at her, confused. She’s driving and isn’t even wearing her jacket, how could--

He catches sight of her exposed arms.

“I figure you don’t want me to take my hands off the--”

“You got a new tattoo!” exclaims Tedros, delighted. “What is it, let me see--”

“Don’t grab me, you already hate my drivin’!”

“Right--”

Tedros clamps his hands firmly between his knees and squints at her arm, trying to work out what’s new--

“Oh--  _ Agatha _ .”

“Do you like it?”

Tedros stares wordlessly at the string of pearls that’s been added to her forearm, fiddling with the original, around his neck. 

“You remembered the black one.” he says faintly.

“Well, yeah.”

There’s a pause.

“Stop driving for a second.”

“Why, you gonna throw up?”

“No, you bastard, I want to kiss you.”

“...Oh _.”  _

The second she’s stopped at a junction, Tedros flings his arms around her neck--

Someone honks their horn extremely loudly behind them.

“SAVE IT FOR LATER!” bellows Hester. 

Agatha groans.

“I forgot she was following us.”

Tedros makes a very exaggerated gesture at her. She revs her engine pointedly.

“Whatever.” mutters Agatha, wiping Tedros’s lipstick off the corner of her mouth and resuming driving. She’s smiling, though, the most pleased with herself Tedros has ever seen her look.

Tedros snorts, then is silent for a minute. Then he says;

“Does that mean they’ll respect me, now?”

“Who?” says Agatha vaguely. 

“Valentina and Aja.”

Agatha blinks at him for a second.

“Look at the  _ road.”  _ says Tedros. 

“Oh, right.” she turns back, finally seeming to register what he’d asked her. “Maybe. I feel you might have to work on it a bit.”

“Will you come and scare them off if they don’t?”

“Sure.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“Rude. I’ve changed my mind.”

“Does that mean you’re sleepin’ in your dressin’ room tonight?”

“...you know, I’ve  _ always  _ been devoted to you, baby--”

Agatha laughs, and makes a particularly sharp turn, and laughs more when Tedros glares at her, and they drive on with the sounds of the party fading behind them. 

**Author's Note:**

> cancelled stamp- a shy dancer  
> scratch- money  
> carrying a torch- have a crush on   
> gun moll-- a gangster's girlfriend   
> mind your apples-- mind your business  
> bearcat-- a fierce woman   
> big house- prison  
> heeler- bad dancer  
> floorflusher-- a good dancer  
> blotto-- drunk
> 
> I basically just wrote this on a whim and it got way too long :) hope you enjoyed tho! I wanted to basically explore how tedros is sort of inbetween two sides bc I just kind of LEFT HIM at the end of GMTG lmao. also, I wanted to do 20s au tagatha that wasn't beef or angst lmao.


End file.
